


and I fell in love instantly

by owlinaminor



Series: courferre week 2k14 [5]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Conventions, Courferre Week, Fandom, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 20:24:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2081928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlinaminor/pseuds/owlinaminor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac sits down at his friends’ table like a small train wreck, complete with clattering and banging and out-of-breath interjections.</p><p>“Guys, I need help!  I’m pretty sure I just found my soulmate, and he didn’t stay long enough for me to get his name or phone number!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	and I fell in love instantly

**Author's Note:**

> courferre week, day four!
> 
> this one is written solely because I Am Fandom Trash

Courfeyrac loves cosplaying.

He’s not very good at it, of course – he’s not as artistic as Jehan, as clever with his hands as Joly, or as skilled at sewing as Cosette, so he often ends up simply throwing a few things together last-minute or making a sign out of cardboard that distinguishes his character.  But the best part of cosplay doesn’t have to do with the creation of the costume itself – no, it’s about _becoming your favorite character_.  It’s about walking around cons, shouting inside jokes at cosplayers from the same fandom as you.  It’s about photoshoots where all of these people get excited about the same thing.  It’s bringing fandom to life in a real, tangible way.

Standing on the balcony outside the convention center with a small group of Night Vale cosplayers, Courfeyrac couldn’t be more excited.  His Cecil isn’t great, but he knows the character well, his camera’s battery is charged, and he is ready to take some brilliant cosplay photos, like, yesterday.

The Carlos cosplayer running the photoshoot asks all of the Cecils to go up first.  Courfeyrac stands in a line with his fellow radio hosts, doing poses with his makeshift microphone and his sign reading, “DOWN WITH STREX!”  Then, after a minute or so, the photoshoot head calls up all of the Carloses to go pose with the Cecils.  Pairing time.

Amazingly enough, the numbering is almost perfect: seven Carloses for eight Cecils.  A couple of Cecils and Carloses came to the con together, so they pair up almost immediately.  Other cosplayers gravitate towards potential matches with similar heights or ages.  Soon enough, every Cecil has his arm around his very own perfect scientist – except for Courfeyrac.

Courf shrugs and gives the photoshoot crowd an easy grin.  “I’m fine,” he says.  “Probably, my scientist just hasn’t shown up ye –”

“WAIT!” shouts a voice from a few hundred feet away.

It’s a bird!  It’s a plane!  No, it’s a scientist!

Another Carlos is racing across the terrace towards the group from the door to the convention center.  He’s tall, with square, geeky glasses, almond-colored skin, and a lab coat billowing along behind him like an enormous white flag.  And his hair – holy shit, his _hair_ – gives real substance to Cecil’s almost painful, “Why his beautiful and perfect hair?”  It’s dark, almost ebony, and just the right length, falling in bangs over his eyes – and, more than that, it looks so _silky_ , Courfeyrac aches to run his fingers through it.  There’s something about this cosplayer that gives him an easy grace, an easy fit into his role – maybe it’s the chemistry pun T-shirt, maybe it’s the faded blue sneakers, maybe it’s the coffee stains on the fraying sleeves of his lab coat – and Courfeyrac knows, he just _knows_ that he will never again meet another Carlos as perfect as this one.

A cheer goes up from the rest of the crowd at the sudden evening of the numbers.  Courfeyrac realizes, quite suddenly, that he’s about to _pose with_ this Carlos.  This perfect Carlos of perfect Carloses.  Holy _shit_.

The Carlos approaches Courfeyrac nervously, a strange opposite to his panicked sprinting across the terrace earlier.

“Hi,” Courfeyrac tells him.  He gives a smile and a little wave, hoping to alleviate the nervousness.  Lighten the mood.  Something.

“Hey,” the Carlos answers.  He steps closer, smiling slightly in return – and _damn_ does that smile look good on him.  (Courfeyrac spends precious seconds wondering what that smile would taste like, how it might change if he touched _just here_ or lingered _just there_.)

“So, um.”  Courfeyrac wracks his brain for clever poses to do and comes up completely black.  “What should we ...?”

“I don’t know.”  The other cosplayer looks as lost as Coufeyrac is, which is surprising, considering he’s gorgeous enough to have cute people throwing themselves at him, like, all the time.  “Can I put my arm around you?” he asks.  “I mean, is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Courfeyrac replies.  He gives the Carlos a bright grin, hoping to convey how very _okay_ it is without seeming over-eager.

And so, it comes to pass that the one lonely Cecil without a Carlos to call his own has found another half – for this photoshoot, at least.  The two of them pose together for a number of different Cecilos requests: after Carlos puts his arm around Cecil, they then do an awkward prom photo (standing next to each other and holding hands with incredibly shy smiles), a ridiculous cheesy couple photo (Cecil has his leg hoisted up into the air and throws up a peace sign), and a possessive this-is- _my_ -radio-host photo (Carlos stands in front of Cecil, shielding him from any supernatural oddities that may come at them.)  Each time they pose, Courfeyrac feels his skin tingle wherever it touches the other cosplayer’s – shivers run down his spine almost of his own accord, and he wonders if the people around him can hear his heart beating, probably much too fast.

After the person directing the photoshoot decides to move on to other characters, Courfeyrac attempts to make small-talk with his new cosplay partner in between snapping photos.  By the time everyone is ready to get together for one big group photo, he’s learned that the Carlos fits his role well because he’s actually studying to do research in molecular biology, he’s been listening to Night Vale since episode ten, he got all of his friends a little bit addicted and doesn’t feel bad about it at all, his friends run an activist group at their college that’s actually pretty successful, and he’s also a huge Star Trek nerd.  (He apparently prefers Picard to Kirk, which is a serious discussion in itself – one that, unfortunately, they don’t seem to have time for at the moment.)

All of the Night Vale cosplayers gather in a circle and bow down to one particularly lovely girl dressed as the Glow Cloud, chanting, “All hail.”  As they kneel, the Carlos cosplayer’s eyes fall on his watch, and he curses quietly under his breath.

“What is it?” Courfeyrac asks.

“I’m late,” the Carlos says.  “I was supposed to meet my friends for lunch ten minutes ago in a restaurant twenty minutes from here, _shit_.”

He stands, gives the group an apologetic wave, and sprints off as quickly as he had come running in.

Courfeyrac is caught watching the scientist leave for a long moment – that lab coat is long, sure, but it billows out when he runs, displaying a _very_ nice ass – before he realizes that he completely fucked up.

Completely, totally, horribly fucked up.

* * *

Courfeyrac sits down at his friends’ table like a small train wreck, complete with clattering and banging and out-of-breath interjections.

“Guys, I need help!  I’m pretty sure I just found my soulmate, and he didn’t stay long enough for me to get his name or phone number!”

His friends simply stare for a good half-minute.

Grantaire breaks the silence by, well, breaking out into hysterical laughter.  “You fucking idiot,” he says, words almost indistinguishable.

Marius, on the other hand, is more sympathetic.  “That sucks,” he tells Courfeyrac with a frown.  “But, hey, maybe you’ll see him again before the con’s over, right?”

“ _Soulmate_ ,” Grantaire repeats, still laughing.  “Right.  Like you don’t fall in love every other day.”

Courfeyrac ignores him, instead choosing to take hope in Marius’ words.  “Maybe I’ll see him again before the con’s over.  Yeah, maybe I will.”

“Don’t lose hope, Courf,” Joly chimes in.  “You’ll definitely find him, if you look.”

* * *

Courfeyrac goes back out into that convention center determined to find that Carlos cosplayer with every fiber of his being.

Of course, he doesn’t see him at all for the rest of the weekend.

* * *

Most people would probably give up on finding one cosplayer in a veritable sea of fandom, but Courfeyrac is not most people.  He may look like most people, perhaps talk like most people, and even dress like most people on occasion – yet inside him, shining like a beacon of hope for humanity, is a powerful piece of seriously insane.

At least, that’s what he tells his friends, when they ask him why he’s still trying to find that same Carlos cosplayer two weeks later.

He uploads his photos from the shoot and puts them on Tumblr along with a message asking anyone who has any idea how to contact the Carlos in his photos to please let him know immediately.  (He writes, “immediately, ASAP,” and puts it in both bold and italics, just for extra emphasis.)  At first, he has absolutely no luck.  The photos get barely any notes, and all of those are just a couple of random likes and people reblogging more for the cosplay than for the message.

But Courfeyrac keeps reblogging and reblogging, tagging his photos with all of the variations of “cecilos cosplay” and the name of the convention that he can think of, until finally, precisely fifteen days after posting date, his luck changes.  One of the more popular Cecil roleplayers reblogs his photos, and suddenly, his inbox is exploding with notes.  People are sharing his message, trying to help him find his soulmate.  It feels to Courfeyrac as though the entire fandom is coming together to help this Cecil find his Carlos, and he is so incredibly grateful.

Grateful – and also more anxious than he’s ever been about any exam.

Courfeyrac refreshes his inbox every few minutes, praying to every god he can think of (and some superheroes, too, just in case.)  _Please, just give me this one thing.  I’ll never ask for anything else again.  Enjolras will be pissed that I didn’t ask for world peace or a successful proletariat uprising, but I’m willing to risk his eternal wrath if you can just help me find this guy.  Please, please, please.  PLEASE._

Someone must’ve heard his prayer, because on the seventy-fourth refresh, Courfeyrac has a new ask:

_“Hi.  Um, this may seem a bit awkward or unwarrented, but, um ... I am the Carlos in those photos you posted.  My name is Combeferre, and my Skype is mothenthusiast12, if you’d like to talk?”_

Courfeyrac makes a noise in the back of his throat that isn’t quite human.  He then shuts his laptop, gets off his bed, rolls around on the floor for a little bit, fist-pumps several times, re-opens his laptop, and reads the message again.

“Combeferre,” he whispers, trying it out on his tongue.  It’s no normal name – but then, so is Courfeyrac.  Something about this feels _right_ , from his head all the way down to the tips of his toes.

Courfeyrac takes a deep breath and opens up Skype.

* * *

_Transcription of a Skype message log between two users, 8/7/14, 9:23 P.M._

_**courfeyrad:** hi.  um, combeferre?_   
_**mothenthusiast12:** Yes, this is he.  Courfeyrac?_   
_**courfeyrad:** that’s me!!_   
_**courfeyrad:** okay, this might sound a bit weird, but you have no idea how happy i am to talk to you.  i’ve been trying to find you literally since you walked away from that photoshoot_   
_**courfeyrad:** i should’ve asked for your number then.  i’m sorry i’m an idiot_   
_**courfeyrad:** ... um.  hi?_   
_**mothenthusiast12:**   It doesn’t sound weird at all._   
_**courfeyrad:** it doesn’t??_   
_**mothenthusiast12:** I have been trying to find you since that photoshoot, as well._   
_**courfeyrad:** ... oh._   
_**courfeyrad:** oh thank fuck._   
_**mothenthusiast12:** Not entirely sure how one can thank a fuck, but yes._   
_**courfeyrad:** stfu nerd_   
_**mothenthusiast12:** If that was an insult, you failed miserably._   
_**mothentusiast12:** Now, if I remember correctly, when we met, we started a discussion about Star Trek.  Care to continue?_   
_**courfeyrad:** oh HELL yeah_   
_**courfeyrad:** idk about you but i’ve had almost 3 weeks to think up perfect arguments_   
_**mothenthusiast12:** Bring it on._

* * *

The next year, at the same convention, there is another Night Vale photoshoot.

This time, however, a Cecil and a Carlos are the first two cosplayers to arrive.  They sit on the stairway waiting for other people to trickle in, smiling and waving at everyone they meet.  Their conversation is loud and excited, enough that those who pass them look at them and wish they could join in.

They are holding hands.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, feel free to come say hi, tell me nice things, offer me your soul, etc on [tumblr](http://liberteegalitehomosexualite.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
